


Where Angels Fear to Tread

by the eternal feminine (redpenninja)



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Awkward Romance, Chapter 1 Spoilers, Drama, F/F, First Kiss, LGBTQ Female Character, Pre-Relationship, Smoking, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:47:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenninja/pseuds/the%20eternal%20feminine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flight from Nar Shaddaa to the Long Shadow is a four-week roundtrip. Captain Derina Vandergraff finds ways to fill the time, avoids thinking about Risha, and tries to figure out who's stealing her food from the galley. Nothing goes as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Angels Fear to Tread

> _“I know that I shall meet my fate,_
> 
> _Somewhere among the clouds above.”_
> 
> _–W.B. Yeats_

Being a spacer means stumbling onto legends, old stories and bold-faced lies becoming tangible right before your eyes. Derina is no stranger to legends; she’s met the Hero of Tython (and stolen from him, too), she’s walked along the rim of the sarlaac pit, she’s flown through uncharted routes where the stars burn strange and the sky seems darker. She’s well on her way to becoming a legend herself, if all of Risha’s milk and honey boasts and double-edged promises bear fruit. But none of that really compares to watching Nok Drayen emerge, silvery and thin, from carbonite and fall to his knees in front of his only daughter.

Derina can’t help but feel like she’s intruding, even though Risha and Drayen don’t touch, no long hug or kiss on the forehead or fatherly hand on her shoulder. It isn’t how Derina would reunite with her father, if given the chance. He just looks at her for a while, Risha torn somewhere between the soft eyes, the grasping gaze that she’d left on Tatooine (pieces of it went with Audila and her husband, walking away without looking back) and the icy stare, the clipped tone that had kept Derina, Bowdaar, Skavak, her father (?) at arms’ length. But he’s the same, all business and formalities in that hissing, sharp accent. Risha’s voice almost has it, the same flowing cadence and matter-of-fact, decisive tone. Hers is warmer, though, only a little, more entrancing, but maybe Derina’s a little biased. She’s always loved Risha’s voice from that first _looking forward to working with you, Captain._

Being under Nok Drayen’s cold stare, equally inhuman and devoid of life on both sides, makes Derina want to drop her gaze, take the bravado out of her voice and the swagger out of her walk. She flicks her gaze over to Risha instead; at least she’s learned how to keep her cool around her, even if Nok is a different story. Still…it runs in the family, just like the voice and the hard eyes. They both can disarm her, and they know it. They’re both better liars than she is, and they probably know that, too. Back when they’d first teamed up with Risha, Derina had promised Corso that they’d stay one step ahead of her, just to be safe. Derina hasn’t kept good on her promises recently.

Nok prattles off some information about the Long Shadow (another legend debunked) and hands over the coordinates. His fingers are cold and rough, like the jagged edges of ice, when he presses the holodisk into her hands.

“My daughter will stay here,” he says, and for a moment it’s almost…nice. But she doubts it’s for sentimental reasons; what little she’s seen of him has her convinced they aren’t going to be swapping favorite memories and crying goodbyes. “I have things to tell her, and my time grows short.”

Exactly.

Risha turns to her, steps out from behind her father’s shadow. The look on her face is unlike Derina’s ever seen before on her; the professional mask is gone, replaced with gentle furrows between her eyebrows and an authenticity that doesn’t fit her face.

“Good luck, Captain, but I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Derina leans back on her heels and shrugs, “Can never have too much of it. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”

She isn’t sure how to leave, if she’s supposed to bow or say something to Nok or tell Risha that she’ll…she’ll what? Miss her? That traveling without her will be so boring after the past few months? There’s truth behind all those words, yet they’d never sprung up until now. She steals another look at Risha before she goes, and it almost seems like she’s thinking it too. But then again, Risha is apparently harder to read than she’d originally thought.

“Hope you won’t miss me too much,” she says instead, calling it over her shoulder as she beelines for the door, all too aware of both pairs of eyes on her.

Bowdaar is waiting in the hall by the lift, pacing back and forth in long, hurried strides. He lights up when he sees her, sharp white teeth glinting in the bluish light, and growls out a question.

“We’re headed for the Long Shadow, Bowie. You heard of it?” She hands over the holodisk with Drayen’s coordinates for him to inspect.

[On Kashyyk we have stories of the darkest reaches of space,] he rumbles in a grave, mellow timbre. [From here it’ll take four weeks roundtrip.]

“Four weeks? Guess we’re gonna need to pick up some food,” Derina replies.

She isn’t sure what else she expected; of course a black hole in the far reaches of the galaxy would be, well, far. Still, the thought doesn’t exactly thrill her. She could return and find Drayen dead (for real this time, no second chance, no cheating). She may not return at all, but that seems more unlikely. Risha had instilled more confidence in her than she probably deserved. With Risha behind her, the Long Shadow was just another run, another finished delivery and enormous payday. She only hopes that confidence could outlast the two-week flight to the Long Shadow without the black, cold expanse of space sucking it out of her.

Bowdaar glances down at her and narrows his eyes. [You seem more distracted than usual, Cliff-Diver.]

“I’m fine, big guy, I promise,” Derina says, waving her hand in his direction. “Just not looking forward to the flight. We’ll have to fix the dejarik table if we wanna avoid dying of boredom.”

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders back, adjusts the scarf that’s pinned across her jacket. “Ready to go? The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back and get paid.”

With a strong, quick nod, Bowdaar steps onto the waiting lift and moves to the side for her. She fiddles with the control for a moment, trying to remember what level of the planet they’d come from.

“Derina, hold on!”

Derina snaps to attention, unused to her own name in the sharp honey of Risha’s voice. The clinical pale-blue of the lights in the hall wash over her dark hair and sharp features, creating razor shadows that slice across her cheeks and blacken the already dark spaces under her eyes. She looks tired, yet deadly, with the same determined ferocity that she always carries herself with, but there’s something else there as well, something more protective and intimate. Derina steps out of the lift and folds her arms as Risha comes to stand in front of her, mimicking her pose with a straighter back and better posture. A real, honest to stars lady, and yet not at all one of Corso’s damsels in distress.

“Right, I forget I can’t leave without you telling me to be careful thirty times,” Derina says.

Risha doesn’t smile, “You’re no good to me dead. And if you listened, you wouldn’t have that ugly shiner.”

Almost out of instinct, Derina reaches up and touches the still-tender skin around her left eye, the only remnants from her fight with that stupid Baliss duelist. It’s not nearly as sensitive as it originally was when Risha had first patched it up in the med bay, her fingers warm and soft from the kolto gel and her scolding more disappointed than irritated. Most of the skin is still black and blue, giving her features a sunken look, but the edges of the wound have begun to fade into a sickly pale yellow.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” Derina replies reflexively. Risha rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to snap back, but Derina continues. “Besides, by the time I get back, you won’t have to worry about looking at it anymore.”

Risha’s glance darts down to her boots for just a flash before returning to glare at Derina openly, but Derina catches it all the same, the fracture in her armor. “Four weeks is a long time.”

“Geez, Risha, don’t get all teary on me,” Derina says, her voice as falsetto as she can manage. “I thought we were being professional.”

“Don’t make me regret following you out here.” Risha jabs a finger at Derina’s chest.

She wants to laugh, to snap out another reply at her, but her voice is laced with something serious, a genuine emotion buried under her self-certain tone. Derina throws a glance back at Bowdaar and juts her chin up towards the higher levels of the city.

“Mind hailing us a cab, Bowie?” Bowdaar rumbles an affirmative and the lift begins to crawl upwards with a hiss.

They both watch it go until the faint, airy sound of the lift moving becomes nothing more than a whisper in the narrow hallway. They’re alone, but not without that heavy, anticipating air that’s hovered over them since their _Celestial Crow_ debacle ( _what am I supposed to do if you don’t come back?_ ). Risha makes the first move, taking a small step to close what little space was left between them. She reaches up and brushes a thumb over the swollen skin around Derina’s eye, then moves her hand down to cup her jawline. Her hand is warm and soft even without her gloves and the ring on her finger is deliciously cold against Derina’s quickly heating skin.

“I came to wish you luck, Captain,” Risha says in a heavy undertone.

“I thought you said I didn’t need it.” Derina leans into Risha’s touch, her own hand curling around the jut of Risha’s hip, thumb splayed across the crest of her pelvic bone.

“There’s no such thing as too much luck,” Risha echoes, and then leans down and kisses her.

And it isn’t just physical anymore, isn’t just admiring the curve of her breasts or the pursing of her lips between words, isn’t just trying to flirt over Correlian red or convincing her to take a hookah break in Derina’s bed, shoulders brushing as they laugh through the smoke. It’s unlike the last few girls, or the guys from before she knew, it’s unlike worshipping a girl one night and kicking her out the next day, it’s unlike making out in bar backrooms and sneaking off once it’s done. The kiss tastes real, genuine, with all the honey from Risha’s voice but none of the double meanings. It reminds Derina that she exists, and reminds her that she’s leaving. It’s like watching a star explode, all this heat and energy and beauty burning and waiting to burst until it can’t stand it anymore, shattering into a brilliant burst of light until it gets sucked up by the overwhelming darkness of space. It had aged well, all that tension, and it tastes even better than Derina had ever dreamed.

Then it’s over. Risha pulls away with a surprised, bemused look, like she’d forgotten she started kissing Derina at all. Derina half expects her to turn on her heel and walk away, but instead she removes her hand slowly, fingers sliding gently away from Derina’s jaw.

“Do us both a favor and come back alive, all right?” Risha says in a small, hoarse voice.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Derina says, the rawness of her voice surprising her. “Promise.”

Risha’s eyebrows knit together and she reaches out to pat Derina’s cheek again, but there’s no uncertain affection this time. It feels more patronizing, paired with Risha’s half smirk that seems a bit forced.

“Don’t go soft on me, Captain,” Risha says. “We have to finish the job first. That’s what I told you from the beginning.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a problem with it,” Derina wrenches herself away from Risha’s hand. Risha has the audacity to look offended, before covering it up with her cool, unaffected stare. “I’m a long ways from soft, Rish.”

“Just a reminder,” Risha says tightly. Then she smiles a little. “But all the same, at least you’ve got a little more luck.”

“I’m glad it came from you,” Derina blurts without thinking.

Risha’s smile dims slightly, but her eyes don’t frost over. It almost seems like she’s going to give in and confirm what’s been swirling around them for weeks now (attraction, fondness, friendship, love?), put words to what Derina can’t, but instead she folds her hands behind her back and nods curtly in Derina’s direction.

“See you soon, Captain.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Likewise,” Derina says. She steps onto the lift and begins to fiddle with the control panel before glancing over her shoulder to find Risha still watching her. “Risha, I…”

There’s so much emotion coating her voice that she forces herself to stop, biting her tongue so hard that she thinks she’ll draw blood. Risha’s eyes are hungry, but her face betrays nothing. She gives a small shake of her head and that settles it, shutting down what little honesty had begun to surge out of Derina. It stings, but it doesn’t have the same pang of insecurity that comes with rejection. Instead it’s hollow, unsettled, an empty space inside her that’s begging to be filled with answers, validation. It feels like a sketchy deal, too little details but that gut instinct that it’ll pay out, if it’s the right moment. And it isn’t (it is, it is, it is). It just isn’t, no matter how much she wants it to be.

“Save it for your diary, Captain.” It doesn’t sound as mean as it should, and Risha doesn’t look up at her.

“I don’t have a diary,” Derina growls back reflexively. (It’s a Captain’s log, thank you very much.)

They lock eyes again for one, long, brilliant moment and then Derina shakes herself out of it.

“Bye, Rish,” she says when it becomes clear Risha’s not about to start spilling her guts, and presses the button to take her to the upper level of the Industrial Sector.

She’s almost grateful when the lift plunges into the darkness of the shaft, away from the new supernova brightness that had taken over Risha’s eyes. When she emerges onto the platform, Bowdaar is waiting for her, his blue eyes piercing and intuitive in the grey winter light. There’s a slight chill in the air, and a relentless wind slices across her cheeks the moment she steps off the lift, blowing back her jacket and assaulting her with the murky smells of the rest of the city. She tightens her jacket around her and readjusts her scarf.

“Get us a taxi?” Derina asks, her tongue feeling clumsy in her mouth.

[He’s waiting over there,] Bowdaar gestures to a derelict cab on the other side of the platform. His eyes search her face for a moment and she knows he can see right through her. [What did Red-Mane say to you?]

“Enough for me to need a drink,” Derina says. She clears her throat, “Let’s hit the road. We’ve gotta pick up some stuff before we leave port.”

He looks like he wants to push her to open up, like he always does when they travel together, but he holds his tongue and simply steps aside for her to lead the way to the taxi. They stop by the Promenade first, strolling through the artificial beauty of the bright, multicolored lights that create strange shadows over the crowd and fantastic reflections on the silvery, smoggy sky above.

The provisions shop is mostly empty, so the clerk droid tries to convince her to buy fresher ingredients for meal preps. She buys plenty of rations instead, probably more than they need, and finds some freeze-dried Mantellian cuisine for Corso. There’s a few Coruscanti options as well, ones that her mother used to make when they could afford more than protein paste, so she buys them as well to hide in the personal fridge in her room. Bowdaar convinces her, in the end, to buy some of the droid’s fresh produce. When they finally do leave, it’s with more food than she ever imagined she’d bring on board. Her crew has never been this big, never stayed on for this long, but she finds it isn’t as irritating as she would’ve found it last year, or even six months ago.

She picks up a few more bottles of liquor as well from the spirits store near the spaceport, even though her bar is almost always fully stocked. They walk back to the spaceport instead of hailing another taxi, but it takes twice as long with the weight of the bags and the cutting wind. There’s a tobacco dealer outside the spaceport, a smooth-talking Rodian with a thick accent and an even thicker, fur-lined coat. Derina buys Risha’s favorite flavor (something Alderaanian, too rich for Derina’s taste) without thinking twice and doesn’t realize her mistake until they’re back on board the _Tempest_ , engines humming as they prepare to take off toward the edge of everything.

But by then it’s too late anyway, so she tucks the tobacco package into the chest pocket of her jacket, letting the heady, earthy smell overtake her while she pilots manually until they jump into hyperspace. She watches the navicomputer count down as they race towards the Outer Rim and beyond, the seconds draining away as they pummel through the swirling blue hyperlane. She allows it to lull her into a trance, mesmerized by the passage of time and the blue glow that envelopes the cabin until she decides she’s brooded enough for one day (she can pick up where she left off tomorrow).

Time for her drink.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. My understanding of hyperspace travel may be a little off, but seeing as the Long Shadow is literally at the very edge of the Outer Rim, I felt it couldn't be too unrealistic for it to take two weeks to get there, and then two weeks back.  
> 2\. "Cliff-Diver" is Bowdaar's name for Derina, as (obviously) Basic names don't translate.  
> 3\. Risha is a little shit.  
> 4\. So is Derina.


End file.
